Learning to Fall
by You are my Math
Summary: Because their love story isn't something we called dramatic, just smiles, silent talks, canvas, workshops, and a brush. He doesn't really know how to paint, does he? But to pretend is the best he can think of just to be with her. SaiIno.


_Disclaimed._

* * *

When an artist falls in love with his work,

things around him will be all about

 **Learning to Fall**

by: you are my math

 _Art is a bang, right?_

 _x._

 **She was the perfect model** he had seen from all the months he passed by the workshop, and watched all those art majors paint the beauty of what they see in front of them. She was perfect in any angle—long slender legs, cascading blonde hair, and those sky blue eyes. He found himself swallowing down the thought of how captivated he was to her.

And here he was, just standing outside the room, and seizing to take a glimpse through the small glass of the door.

He was not deemed bad, or dirty or...Of course those things were inappropriate, and stupid. How can one ever feel arouse by just seeing a beautiful anatomy of a real human clothed in nothing but a white sheer blanket? At least for someone who takes up art as their major do not think like that. But he wasn't, not even close to art major. His field was software engineering. But he doesn't think that way.

 _She looked like a porcelain doll._ He heard the recesses of his thought whispered beneath.

"Hey, are you going in?"

He turned around to see a man, about the same height as him, standing, and holding a two by three blank size canvas. He didn't speak.

"Hey, if you're not going in, can you move a little bit out of the way? This thing's kinda heavy."

He obliged, moving to the side. "I'm sorry."

"Sure, it's okay, man. Just don't go standing there in the middle of the way, art people gotta ton shits to carry." He blabbered, proceeding to turn the knob. But before he could do so, he was stop midway on the wrist.

He didn't have a concrete idea as to what to say to him, but somehow: "are you going to paint her?"

The other one seemed to only shrug. "Well yeah, that's what we do here, y'know."

Words seemed to have been stuck on his throat, he wanted to say something instead of that. But the pressing stare the stranger gave to him, made him asked the first question he didn't even want to touch. "What is the name of the model?"

The stranger glanced through the mirror, before speaking. "Oh. Her? We don't usually ask the names of our models, y'know for privacy and all that, still—wait, are you even an art major? Why didn't you know that? It's one of the unspoken policy here, and..." He stopped halfway, seeing the pale man looked as if he was stunned or something. "But, I heard our professor says something like Ino. Yeah, Ino."

And he released him. Satisfied, the stranger proceeded to enter the workshop.

 _x._

 **That morning** , after the savage discussion to his three hour math subject, he went to the college of fine arts and design only to figured that she wasn't the today's model. He frowned, saddened for some reason. He was planning to personally ask her what her name really is. Ino was it? He didn't know if he'd believe the stranger from yesterday.

 _But...but, asking her name like that was too forward. And weird, right?_

He didn't want to be deemed stalker. Or anything that would be a bad thing at all. But what could he do? He was really curious about her. He thought for a moment, a face like that, sure she wasn't past twenties. A fellow student, he supposed. Part time? Different course? University?

He shook his head to the train of questions in his head.

"Ah, you again?"

He snapped his head up to the voice.

"What're you doing here again? You're not from this field, are you? But why did you keep on coming back here? Wait, could it be...you're waiting for that chic somewhere around here? Hoping to see her again?" He hopped next to him, and nudged him on the ribs knowingly.

"No, I just wanted to personally ask her what her name is."

"What?" Sounding a bit offended at that. "You didn't believe me the first time I told you?"

He shrugged.

"Tch. Trust issues." The stranger mumbled. "I'm Kiba, and you're?"

He regarded him a glance, contemplating first, until he gave in. "Sai."

Kiba buried his hands on the pockets of his jacket, starting again, "so, what're you doing here for? Legit waiting for the chic? Man, you got hooked." He casually commented away, oblivious to Sai's jerking brow at how quick their pleasantries escalated. They hardly even knew one another.

"So, you wanna ask her out personally?" He nodded in understanding. "Why don't you just go attend a class here? The professor wouldn't even know about it. That geezer doesn't even give a thing to everyone. So basically everyone in the campus are darn right welcome." He laughed. "Of course that ain't true. But you could at least sneak out and pretend."

"Kiba-san, I think you're mistaken."

"Psh." He snorted. "You're easy to read."

 _x._

 **The days were brief** , it passed by before he realized it. And now, for some stupid reason that he kept in his thought, he considered what that guy named Kiba told him about before. It was stupid, and absurd. But at least, if he had to kick the bucket now, he would've rather risked taking the chance of sneaking out and playing pretend.

A kind of bucket list to him.

Standing in front of that college building that towered him, he didn't exactly know which size of the canvas to bring. _Perhaps an 18 by 24 one would be all right._ He assured himself.

He gulped, and proceeded to the designated floor. On the elevator to the 8th, he crossed paths with Kiba who was just going out. Kiba saw a glimpse of him, and smirked. But he ignored the embarrassment that crept down to his spine. So what, he'd play pretend? It's college anyway. No one gives a crap.

Still, it was embarrassing to see that he, Sai, a math genius in college of engineering dared cross the lines of desperation.

When he reached the floor, to the room, he witnessed how empty it was. The room, the easels emptied of any canvases, and the floor though it was tinted with drops of paint was clean...and empty.

He descended his gaze down, closing the door. He should've known in the first place that it was a bad idea to consider a stranger's suggestion.

That until, "oh what are you here for? Aren't you going?"

A feminine voice.

He jerked up only to see her there. _Her._ For crying out loud, her. He pondered to himself.

"The class was cut off short. Everyone left already..." She trailed off, seeing the canvas he was holding. "Your canvas," she looked up to him, and nearly, he was breathless at the sight of her baby blue eyes. "It's empty. You haven't started yet."

"I...uh," he scratched the back of his head, oblivious of what to say. "I was..."

"I haven't seen you around here before though. But do you want me to help you finish that one?" She suggested, sincere tone ringing through his ears.

Taken completely aback, he was void of any ideas to retort back. How can one even seize this perfect chance that lies in front of him? How? Seriously how? And then he was suddenly grabbed by the wrist. "Come on in, I'm a good girl, and I won't let my artist go home with an empty canvas."

Once they were in, she let go of his arm and went behind the folded walls on the corner of the room.

 _Probably to change,_ he thought.

He readied his canvas, positioned his easel at 45 degree angle—at least that was what he learned from those days he'd been watching those art majors do their thing—brought out his newly purchased set of oil paints, and brushes.

He didn't know what to bring, so he brought even that huge wide flat brush. And then he sat there, trembling, with his palms sweating. He bit his lip because, hell, sitting here alone with her was the least he expected. He could even felt his heart banging on his chest.

When she went out clothed only in a white veil, and white blanket, he couldn't help but to say, "what's the theme?"

Smiling at that, she replied, "it's up to you. But the professor says it's a runaway bride."

"Looks more like an angel to me," he breathed, out of the blue. And realizing that, he sworn to beat himself later.

She laughed nonetheless. "Thank you." She pulled the blanket around her, arranging it on the floor. "Well, aren't you going to arrange me down?"

"V-very well. I...I will," flustered, he went to her, and fashioned her down. "Well...is this okay? Are you okay sitting like that? Do you feel comfortable? Because I-I could change it to, um,"

"Silly, why are you so worked up? It's one of the few negatives of being a model, you know? If my artist wanted it this way, then who am I to argue?" Her smile on that glossed lips of hers was uncannily soothing.

"Y-yes, of course. I forgot." He chuckled in between. "I'll...I'll be starting now." He went back to his seat, cursing to himself underneath.

And before he could deemed this one cliché, it felt like a gush of century had already passed, since he sat there, brought his pencil out and started measuring how many heads she was. Good thing he knew a bit of this kind of stuff.

But of all the things he couldn't do was to make a sketch. Sketch of a real human. The _anatomy_. These were just the few reasons, why he attended engineering college instead of following his family's desire for him.

He couldn't draw.

He gulped, as he started lining his canvas, drawing circle to the first row of his lines, and all those whatnots. He even attempted to draw a skeletal figure of a seated woman. He even wrote words, unconscious to himself. He didn't know how, why, but he just did...and—

"Is there a problem?" She asked, concerned. "Your face. You're frowning."

"Ah," he picked up. "No. There's none. No problem at all." He shook his head dismissively. He pondered on the thought, how can he even pull through this? She would be mad, if she ever figured out that she sat there for hours for complete nothingness.

Seemingly convinced, she nodded.

"No," he blurted out. "As a matter of fact, there's a problem,"

"Am I sitting down incorrectly?"

"No, you're completely fine."

"Then...?"

"I...was not really an art major." He felt bad just for bringing that up. But he wouldn't just sit there, and deceive her more.

So he continued, "I'm so, so sorry for letting you go through that hassle to change, and sit there, giving all your best thinking I was a real artist, and all of those things. But, I was just at the door, and...and was just hoping to see you again. Ah—no, I didn't mean that that way, I just happened to be lurking there, and then you happened. I didn't know, I was just too captivated to even reject you. But I'm sorry, deeply I am—"

"Everyone is an artist in their own way."

He looked up. And sure, she was surprised, that shouldn't be stated. But her next words to him wasn't what he was expecting.

"Earlier just now, you even know how to measure me up by your pencil. Only artist knows about that trick." She giggled.

He blushed. "Y-yeah, I learned that one from watching them."

"You watched people how to draw? That's amazing. I never knew someone who have all those patience, let alone a non-art major like you." There was pause, and then, "still you shouldn't deceived people like that. Just because I was thoughtful enough to allow you draw me a while ago, didn't actually mean I wasn't offended now."

"I'm really, really sorry."

"It's okay you know. But I've seen that you've sketched me. May I see?"

Flabbergasted and red, he immediately pulled his canvas close to him like a five year old refusing to let his work be seen by his teacher. "N-no please. Later. After I leave, is that okay?"

"I... Uh, okay. Sure." She hoped down only to look back at him once again. "Are you still going to draw me? Else, I would change now."

He waved his hand to consent. "You should go change now."

Once she disappeared on the columned wall to change, he gathered his belongings, stuffed it all inside immediately. And before he could dashed away from the scene, he finished the note he left on his canvas, and brought out from his bag the single rose he bought earlier this morning.

He left it there. And ran for the door before she could even finished changing.

 _x._

 **The loud thud** of the door on the other side was what she had heard after all the rustling there was.

She went out only to see no one.

 _He probably felt so embarrassed_. She thought, sighing. She walked towards his left canvas on the easel, and took a glimpse of it.

For some strange reason, she felt her heart lounged at the note he left, and the pink rose he gave.

There, written something: _I didn't really know how to draw, I just wanted to spend this time with you. Hope I didn't offend you as much as I already did now. My name is Sai, and nice to meet you, Ino-san. Till next time._

"Such a weird guy."

.

.

 _fin._

* * *

 _A/N:_ I don't ship them, but they're nice.


End file.
